


Rough Music

by orbis_terrarum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Hetalia Kink Meme, Pegging, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbis_terrarum/pseuds/orbis_terrarum





	Rough Music

He can feel her long hair brushing against his back, even before her narrow fingers close on his shoulder. She smells of flowers, of sturdy chrysanthemums and tall hollyhocks; she smells of woman, and that scent drives him slowly mad. He arches his back, head bowed, knees apart to leave him open for her.

_At first, he had laughed at her. "You want to--what, exactly?" he had asked, and she'd only grinned at him the way she had in her wild Magyar days. "I want to fuck you," she'd answered._

She bends to kiss the back of his neck, the line of his spine; her nipples catch on his flushed skin, and he can feel them growing hard at the contact. "My dear lady," he murmurs. His chest feels tight.

_"You realize that it's an absurd thing that you're asking, isn't it?" He had turned back to his piano, affecting disinterest. He had never been so hard in his life._

"You're ready?" she asks, with a laugh welling up in the question. When she leans close, he can feel her hardness just barely brushing his hip. The sense of it is disquieting, deeply arousing. "I want you," his wife whispers against his shoulder. "I can't wait anymore."

_She had remained undeterred. "I could, if I wanted to. I could strap a--" "Very well, very well!" he had shouted, and thrown himself at once into the order of his music. As he began a slow and meditative rendition of Beethoven, he was remembering a long-ago night when the world had cracked open and he had given himself utterly to a young German._

"You should ..." He hesitates, and finds his vocabulary unequal to the task. Instead, he lets his weight rest on one arm, and he slips his hand between his leg to curl two fingers into himself. With her scent all around him, her hair falling silken on his skin, he can imagine that they are her fingers--and then her hand closes on his, guiding it to his arousal while she slides delicate fingers deep into him. He can't help crying out at the sense of being slowly filled.

_Even the music made him want._

His wife enters him, eager and inexperienced, sighing a little with pleasure; her thrusts are erratic, erotic, rough-wondrous.

They find a rhythm, and that rhythm suffices.


End file.
